


Pedilavium

by menel



Series: The Blind Verse Companion [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Religion, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel believes that the time has come to renew his bond with Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pedilavium

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to ["Respite."](http://archiveofourown.org/works/429952) Set after 4x17 It's a Terrible Life. 
> 
> Fulfills the prompt "body: feet" on my Kiss Bingo card. 
> 
> This fic was originally posted on my LiveJournal on December 18, 2010.

Dean flipped on the light switch of the motel room and threw his duffel bag on one of the double beds. He’d left Sam back at the bar, chatting up some librarian who turned out to be a stripper on her off nights. Dean shook his head at the thought. It was always the quiet ones. He headed straight to the counter at the left side of the room where there was a small tray with two tumblers on it. He opened the bottle of whiskey that he’d been holding in his left hand and poured himself a glass. They’d just wrapped up a case: a simple, straightforward haunting involving an uncomplicated ghost. A bit of salt, a bit of iron, some burned bones. No demons, no angels, no broken seals. Dean could almost pretend that it was the good old days. But that didn’t last long. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly to the reflection of Castiel that had materialized in the large mirror in front of him as soon as he had put down his glass. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said calmly, as though he hadn’t heard the question. 

Dean downed the whiskey in one go and waited for an answer. He stared at the angel’s reflection and wasn’t surprised when Castiel stared straight back. Dean knew the staring match could go on forever and he was loathe to admit that the angel would probably win, so he arched an eyebrow and said in the most withering tone he could manage, “Well?” 

Castiel backed down and Dean couldn’t hide his surprise. 

“I came to see you,” Castiel said matter-of-factly. 

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That much was obvious. “About?” he said instead, his voice still testy. 

If Dean hadn’t been so irritated, he would’ve noticed that Castiel wasn’t quite himself. The angel appeared distracted now that their staring match was over. Castiel was unfamiliar with anxiety, but had he felt it before, he would’ve recognized the signs: the hesitation, his uncertainty on how to deal with Dean. His human charge had never been easy to deal with, but lately – since before the incident with Alastair, if Castiel were truly being honest with himself – dealing with Dean had become particularly difficult and trying. Which would explain why Castiel had been studiously avoiding him, occupying his time with other responsibilities that did not require trips to earth or duties in his vessel. Zachariah had inadvertently made things easier by putting Sam and Dean through what he had called a “rehabilitation exercise,” but now that was over and Castiel found himself face-to-face with the puzzle that was Dean Winchester once more. 

Dean hadn’t moved. He fixed his gaze on the angel’s reflection and waited for Castiel to speak. 

“How are you?” 

“How am I?” Dean repeated, his tone vaguely mocking. He knew that for the most part sarcasm was lost on the angel, but he couldn’t help himself. Sarcasm was hardwired into his system, even as he recognized that Castiel, in his awkward way, was genuinely trying to make conversation. “Well, I’m just peachy, Cas,” he went on, his tone now self-deprecating. “How are you?” 

Castiel considered pointing out that Dean was neither a peach nor the color of the fruit, but refrained from doing so. “I am well,” he said seriously. 

“Of course, you are,” Dean noted, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. “And now that the small talk is over,” he said, turning around and leaning against the counter, “I’ll repeat my first question. What are you doing here?” 

“I already answered that question,” Castiel said, a little confused. “I came here to see you.” 

Without the whiskey Dean suspected that he’d be feeling a lot more exasperated. He took a sip before speaking. “Zachariah send you?” 

“No.” 

_Well_ , Dean thought. _At least that was something_. “Your boss,” he said aloud, “is a real piece of work.” 

“Zachariah can be . . .” Castiel searched for the right word. “. . . quite creative,” he said at last. 

“I wasn’t complimenting him, Cas.” 

“Oh.” 

There was a silence. Dean felt like they were back at square one. Why was it even harder than usual to talk to the angel? 

“So . . .” Dean waited. 

Castiel looked at him steadily. When the angel didn’t say anything after another silence, Dean put his glass down on the counter and walked towards him. “Look,” he said, standing in front of Castiel, “I’m pretty tired. Sam and I just finished a case. So, if you haven’t got anything you’d like to tell me, then I’m gonna crash.” He gave Castiel a pointed look. “And don’t stick around when I sleep because that’s just creepy.” He brushed by Castiel and went to his duffel bag. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, still facing the mirror, “I am not here on any official assignment.” 

This got Dean’s interest but it didn’t stop him from rummaging through his bag. 

Castiel finally turned around and came to stand by Dean’s bed. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

“That’s good, Cas,” Dean said, glancing up. “Why don’t you do the talking?” 

“I am not good at expressing myself.” 

Dean stopped and straightened up, turning to face the angel as he did so. For the first time all evening, he understood that Castiel had something important to say and that this exercise, which he had deemed somewhat pointless in the beginning, carried great significance for the angel. Castiel was making a monumental effort. The least Dean could do was hear him out. 

“You express yourself just fine,” Dean said, all the irony and sarcasm gone from his voice. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a flash of warmth in Castiel’s eyes, as though the angel had taken his words as a form of encouragement. Dean hoped so. He’d meant them to be encouraging. 

Castiel’s gaze fell to the floor and he appeared to be searching for the right words to say, perhaps the right way to begin. Dean waited patiently. It was a paradox to him that Castiel could speak all the languages in existence and yet so much miscommunication passed between them. When Castiel looked up again, Dean saw a glint in his eye. The angel had reached some sort of decision. But before Dean could ask what it was, there was that sensation of lightness and then falling, followed by the quick disorientation of landing. He instinctively knew that Castiel had brought him somewhere. 

“It would be nice to be asked,” Dean said, a little gruffly. He still hadn’t glanced at his surroundings, although he was aware of standing in another room. 

“Asked?” Castiel repeated. 

“Before doing your . . .” Dean gestured vaguely. “ . . . whatever it is you do. You know, when we’re not in any get-us-the-hell-out-of-here kinda danger. It would be nice to be asked.” 

“Oh, I see.” Castiel nodded. “I will ask next time.” 

“Good.” 

Dean took a moment to look around him at last. They were in a medium-sized room, completely unfurnished except for a simple wooden chair in the center and a side table on the right. The most striking thing about the room was the shade of its walls. Dean couldn’t quite place the color, definitely not blue but not exactly lavender either. Somewhere in between. Dean was still thinking about it when he felt a pressure on his arm. He glanced at Castiel. The angel was gesturing towards the chair. 

“Would you sit down?” he asked. 

Dean eyed the chair for a moment before walking towards it. He was being paranoid. Cas was no Uriel. Or Zachariah for that matter. He sat down, surprised to find that the chair was rather comfortable. He leaned back and looked up at the angel. 

“So, where are we?” 

Castiel shook his head. “That’s not important.” 

Dean wasn’t deterred. 

“Then what are we doing here?” 

Castiel froze then and Dean knew that the angel had brought him to this place for a specific reason, something that was probably beyond the realm of his heavenly duties. After a moment, Castiel walked towards the side table. When he spoke again, his back was to Dean. 

“There is an expression: ‘Actions speak louder than words.’ Is this right?” 

Dean nodded, even though Castiel couldn’t see him. “Words to live by,” he agreed. He was watching Castiel closely, although he couldn’t see what the angel was doing. When Castiel finally turned around, Dean saw that he was holding a silver basin. Well, that was certainly unexpected. Dean was about to crack a joke, but the deathly serious expression on Castiel’s face stopped him. Somehow, he knew that it wouldn’t be appropriate and he didn’t want Cas to take it the wrong way. 

“It is difficult for me to explain to you what I feel,” Castiel said, walking towards him, “but perhaps I can show you instead.” 

Dean was growing mildly concerned. The angel had just referred to his ‘feelings’ and if that wasn’t uncharacteristic enough, Dean couldn’t make the connection between Castiel’s feelings and a silver basin. He was both apprehensive and intrigued as Castiel stood in front of him. 

“May I?” the angel asked. 

Dean had no idea what Cas was referring to, but he found himself nodding rather dumbly anyway. Castiel appeared relieved, as though he had been worried that Dean would refuse. He knelt on the floor in front of Dean and sat back on his heels. Dean shifted but didn’t get up. Castiel’s actions were making him nervous. When he looked at the floor where Castiel had put down the basin, Dean noted that the basin was filled with water. This was getting weirder and weirder. Castiel reached for one of Dean’s shoes and Dean inadvertently pulled his foot back. 

“Uh, Cas?” he said uncertainly. 

“Allow me.” The angel’s tone was both a request and a statement. It gave no room for argument. When Castiel looked up and met Dean’s eyes, Dean felt transfixed by that gaze and he was nodding dumbly again. 

As uncomfortable as he felt, Dean watched as Castiel removed his shoes and then his socks, placing the items neatly to the side. Of course, the angel would be a neat freak. Dean felt oddly exposed. He was otherwise fully clothed, but it felt unnatural to him to sit there with bare feet and a kneeling angel before him. When Castiel moved the basin of water, Dean was shocked to discover that Castiel meant to put his feet in it. He couldn’t contain himself any longer. 

“You gonna give me a foot spa, Cas?” 

“I do not know what a ‘foot spa’ is,” Castiel answered, looking up. “But I will perform a ritual if you will allow me.” 

Dean shrugged. “We’ve come this far . . .” 

Cas smiled then and Dean felt his heart jump a little. The angel never smiled. 

“So,” Dean said, trying to push down the emotions that Castiel was stirring in him. No way was he going there. That was dangerous, unchartered territory and his life was complicated enough. “What is this . . . ritual?” 

“It is called pedilavium.” 

Cold water washed over Dean as Castiel slipped the basin under his feet. 

“You got a name for it in English?” 

“In your bible, it is known as the washing of the feet.” 

“Ah,” Dean said. “This is the bit where Jesus washed the feet of his disciples, right?” He paused. “So, are you Jesus and I’m your disciple?” A hint of his former mocking tone returned and Dean mentally chastised himself. 

Castiel had also noticed the change and he looked up, hesitant again. 

“I didn’t mean it that way, Cas,” Dean hurriedly said. “Go on. Pedilavium?” he encouraged. 

Castiel looked down once more and proceeded to bathe Dean’s feet in the water as he spoke. 

“It is true,” he began, “that Jesus washing the feet of his disciples is the most famous example of pedilavium in your bible. It is often an overlooked ritual, one that the disciples themselves did not understand when Jesus performed it. Pedilavium teaches many valuable lessons such as humility, and service to others, that the essence of leadership is service. But the custom is far older than that and often contained contradictory meanings. In the context of master and slave, it was considered to be the lowliest form of servitude, but between husbands and wives, it was considered an honorable expression of love, a ritual of purity and cleansing that was performed before they joined together.” 

Castiel stopped. He was done washing Dean’s feet and he reached into a pocket of his coat to take out a small, white towel. It was coarse and flimsy, the type of towel that one often saw in kitchens for wiping dishes. He was about to lift Dean’s feet when Dean spoke. 

“And what does this ritual mean to you?” 

Castiel froze again. He had been hoping that Dean would just understand, but perhaps it needed to be said. He looked up. Dean’s expression was unreadable and Castiel secretly marveled at how Dean could do that. Dean should have been an open book to him. He had held this human’s soul in his hands and yet most of the time, Dean remained an enigma, a puzzle that Castiel was yet to solve. 

“It is renewal,” Castiel said simply. “I am renewing my bond with you. Too often our relationship has appeared one-sided. My brothers and I ask things of you, but rarely do we provide you with sufficient explanations. We ask for your service, but we forget that we also serve you. _I_ serve you.” 

“Is that all?” 

The intensity of Dean’s gaze was burning through Castiel. When he had started the ritual, Dean had been sitting back in the chair, but as Castiel spoke, Dean had begun to lean forward, watching Castiel’s actions. Now he was resting his forearms on his knees, much closer to Castiel than the angel would have preferred. 

“I –” Castiel began but stopped. He quickly looked down, his breath catching. He couldn’t say this and meet Dean’s gaze. What if Dean didn’t understand? Or worse, what if Dean understood and rejected what he was truly offering? 

Castiel was at a loss for words so he let his actions speak. He removed the basin of water and dried Dean’s feet with the towel. From his other pocket, he took out a small vial of scented oil, put a small amount on the palm of his right hand, rubbed his hands together and then massaged the oil on Dean’s feet. Then before Dean could react, Castiel said, “I am offering myself to you,” and he quickly bent down and placed a kiss on each of Dean’s feet. He sat upright immediately afterwards, but didn’t dare to look up, keeping his gaze on the feet that he had just kissed. The action had been so fleeting, he could almost trick himself into imagining that it had happened. However, the silence that followed it felt very real to Castiel. Then there were hands gripping his upper arms. Dean was urging him to rise and Castiel allowed himself to be lifted, his heart sinking. 

“Cas, get up.” 

It was a quiet order. 

“Are you upset?” Castiel asked, his gaze still on the floor. “It was not my intention to upset you.” 

“I’m not upset,” Dean said, standing up as well. “Here,” he said, stepping out of the way so he could reverse their positions. “Sit down.” 

Castiel allowed himself to be maneuvered into the chair, even though he was confused by Dean’s actions. “What are you doing?” he asked. It was a silly question since he could plainly see that Dean was removing his shoes and socks. 

Dean looked up. “What does it look like?” 

“It looks like you are removing my shoes and socks.” 

Dean grinned. “You’re quick.” 

“Dean,” Castiel protested, but Dean held up a hand to stop him. 

“Look, I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed,” Dean began, “but it seems to me that . . . pedilavium? It has to work both ways, right?” He looked at the angel for confirmation. 

Castiel considered this. He had been so focused on performing his end of the ritual that it had never occurred to him that Dean would reciprocate. He hadn’t even thought that Dean would allow him to get this far. “I suppose that is . . . fair.” 

“Good.” Dean moved the basin so that it was under Cas’s feet. 

“But this was not my intention,” Castiel added. He felt that it was necessary to make his intentions clear. 

“Suck it up, Cas,” Dean replied, his attention now solely directed at washing the angel’s feet. 

Castiel mirrored Dean’s earlier posture, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched Dean washing his feet. He couldn’t help but turn Dean’s last expression over in his mind. Suck it up. He had heard Dean use the expression several times, usually directed at Sam. Castiel had inferred that it meant coping with something unpleasant without complaining, usually because one did not have a choice. He felt that it was the incorrect expression to use at this moment. He did have a choice. He could easily prevent Dean from washing his feet if he wished, but he did not want to do that. Neither did he find Dean’s actions unpleasant at all. He found the motion of the water and Dean’s hands on his feet to be quite soothing. The whole experience felt unreal, almost mystical to Castiel. For all his millennia of existence, he had never performed pedilavium before, nor had anyone performed the ritual on him. He felt secretly blessed to share this with Dean. And even if Dean did not fully understand what his actions meant to Castiel, it did not matter. The experience, this single moment of renewal, had made all his efforts worthwhile. 

Dean was done. Castiel watched as Dean dried his feet with the towel. He was not surprised when Dean did not reach for the scented oil. He had not actually expected Dean to go that far. Castiel kissing his feet must have seemed very strange to the human, although it had been the most significant part of the ritual for the angel. Significant but ambiguous. Castiel had wanted to convey more than renewal through his actions, but perhaps it was better than Dean had not picked up on his other intentions. It was . . . easier . . . this way. 

The angel was surprised, however, when Dean, who had been sitting on his heels, got into a kneeling position before Castiel, placing one hand on each of the angel’s knees. Castiel had to sit back a little to allow Dean to do so, but they were still very close. If the angel had had any sense of personal space, he would’ve realized that Dean was invading his, but Castiel was not aware of this human convention. His throat had gone dry, another uncommon physical reaction that the angel distractedly considered. Dean’s hands were drifting up his thighs as he leaned forward. Castiel was as still as stone. 

“I accept your offer,” Dean stated. 

Before Castiel could process what Dean was saying, Dean had breached what little space was left between them and pressed his lips to the angel’s. Castiel was too bewildered to respond. When Dean pulled away, he saw the conflicting emotions in Castiel’s eyes. There was a sliver of fear and apprehension, a hint of panic, but there was also wonderment, hope and desire. Castiel had truly evolved from the being that had first appeared to Dean in that abandoned warehouse. He was still a soldier of God, but he was no mindless automaton. And it wasn’t until this moment that Dean realized how much the angel meant to him, how close they had truly become, how much closer they would be in the future. He smiled at the thought and Castiel smiled in return. 

The second time they kissed, it was Castiel who leaned forward. And as he pressed his lips to Dean’s and felt Dean respond, Castiel quelled all the doubts that he had been harboring. Kissing Dean was like coming home. 

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ is the property of Eric Kripke and The CW. No infringement is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
